Extra Things
by MaySoFarAway
Summary: Bits and bobs taking place in the canon of Borrowed Things! Smut, side plots, whathaveyou.
1. Chapter 1

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Because The Night

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"No," Darcy shakes her head, turning in the humid, obscene, golden heat of a Virginia summer. They'd taken their bikes down to the beach, all the way from a respectable, temperate New York July and into the slutty, watery heat of the southern coast. Where flowers were blooming out of every vine, every run-down fence and graffiti-covered wall in Norfolk, all the way to the pretentious boardwalk gardens of Virginia Beach, beading sweat in clinging dresses turning heads and muddling minds.

"No," She repeats, grinning, her thigh-length, studded black dress hitching in the humid night, "You -can't- have a problem with punk!" She tells Logan, balancing in the sand in five inch heels. Logan just chuckles, leaning back on their picnic blanket, eyes on the setting sun over the ocean. Mind, the sun is actually somewhere behind them, but the colors are all over the sea. His eyes go between the horizon and the nape of her neck, where her hair is clinging and sticking, licking his lips.

"Darlin', Punk t'me was just a bunch of angry kids from the suburbs spikin' their hair, dyin' their clothes, and yellin' about England, even though they were American, or Canadian," He grins, watching her bend over and fiddle with her iPod and the speakers she'd brought with her in their tent. And goddamnit, she damn well knew what she was doing, too, flashing her panties his way. "Safety pins through the nose and herion in the veins, s'all I saw in the 80's."

"You mean to tell me," Darcy scoffs, standing, adjusting her skirt, scrolling through her playlists, "That you fucking -lived- through The Stooges, Patti Smith, Social D, and NEVER actually experienced them?!" She huffs, hand on her hips, pursing those fucking perfect, full red lips his way, "Logan, if you were a lesser man, I'd dump ya."

"Lucky me," He smirks, as she sways back over, taking his hand and tugging him up off the sand.

"Get in here," She murmurs, pulling him into the tent as her music starts to play. Something rough and delicate all at once as Darcy pries off his t-shirt, tossing it away. He can feel the sand digging into places it really, really shouldn't, but aw hell, it's par for the course. Her lips are on his, dulling his senses as the music fills his ears, as she tosses off her dress and clutches at her own tits.

All right, no, he'd missed this part of the movement, no doubt.

Her hips roll in a way they only do when she's got music playing. She grinds on him like a dancer, possessed and full, closing her eyes and taking the music into her soul and splaying her hands on his chest. When she looks at him, Logan sees the secret there. He knows that she's seeing the lover she'd imagined the first time she'd heard this song, lonely and adolescent and fumbling at her bits in the dark. That he's what she wanted back then, without knowing it.

It sparks that thing in him, feral and possessive and wild, clutching her hips and rising up to meet her, kissing her until she can't breathe. Her nails dig into his shoulders, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip just to hear him snarl in her ear. She tightens around him, harder than any virgin should know how to pull off, but Logan already knows that Darcy aint like any other girl. His fucking perfect, gypsy child, innocent only in the technicalities. The music is her tell. That she's dreamed of this kind of thing, fucking a man senseless with all the passion she'd heard in a song.

All right, he gets it now.

Turning her over as it all melds together, he pushes into her in that hot, cramped little tent like a man taken over, taken in by her skin, her curves, the way she can be so turned on by just notes, lyrics, and him. She draws blood from his lips and he doesn't even give a shit, bending to work one of her tits between his teeth just as he hears her breath shortening, gasping, nails digging into his lower back as her's arches and curves in his hands.

"Logan!" She gasps in his ears, both breathless girl and lustful woman at once, and he's done, groaning, finishing and filling her.

So yeah, maybe he could see himself being a fan...

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	2. Chapter 2

((These were supposed to be smut-prompts, but they turned into these. I like 'em! Taking place somewhere along the time-line of Friction. Hurrr.))

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**Tease**

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"I know you like me, Sugar," Rogue says it so easily, too.

When Darcy had once described her highschool best friend, it had been the portrait of a quiet, kind yet shy teenage girl. A far cry from the sultry, confidant 20-something Southern Belle Bruce had finally met formally (see: not in battle as The Hulk) a few weeks ago. There's nothing shy or embarrassed about the way Marie leans back against his work bench in the labs, watching him wind his scarf around his neck. He's off for the night, much as he'd like to keep working. For general mental health, however, Agent Lewis had JARVIS enforcing a curfew.

"..Course, if you don't, I'll leave ya alone," Her hands go behind her back, her teeth biting the corner of her lip, and Bruce feels a sudden tightness in his throat, "I aint that pushy, just...I really like you," She grins again, and he can't help returning it.

"No, no, trust me, I...I like you, it's just..." Bruce pauses, licking his lips, tearing his eyes away from hers, "...I know you think you know complicated?" He glances back at her, through hair that he really needs to get trimmed, "Age gaps, your mutation, but...add me to that mix? It's more than complicated. One slipped touch doesn't mean I could die. One touch means -you- could die," He shakes his head, "I do like you, Marie, and that's why nothing's gonna happe-..." He's cut off as she plucks up the end of his scarf with gloved fingers, placing the thin jersey over his lips and then kissing him, softly.

It's gentle, but it's also warm and then hot and Bruce feels it like a jolt to his toes, a woman's kiss, and it has nothing to do with her mutation. It's chaste and yet it's so, so dirty, not touching, but touching. It makes his head go all kinds of places, all the ways this could work, slip of the stockings be damned. His hands are at her waist before he can stop them, fingers brushing against her studded belt and what feels like a lace bodysuit under her t-shirt and oh hell...

"...There's no pullin' that superhero shit with me, Bruce," She breathes, letting the scarf fall. Her breath is warm on his lips, just inches away, "I aint scared of anything."

"...Well all right, then..."

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**Touch**

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It's one of those fights when the Hulk is having a hard time coming back to himself. They've raided the lair of a known terrorist, who happened to have a human trafficking operation on the side, mostly young girls. Marie figures this has to be why his rage was running hotter than usual. Bruce, as much as he kept himself from them, had a heart for kids. Seeing abused girls who looked like the kids he'd treated in Brazil, in India...well. Hulk had smashed, and Hulk had smashed -hard-.

Yet now he was all but decimating the stockpiled weapons in the guy's bunker, and frankly, SHIELD needed some of those as evidence. Tony wanted some for poking at. Finally, they called Marie away from where she was processing the girls with Hawkeye, and down to try her hand at calming the savage beast.

"Bruce!" She shouted into the concrete cave, getting no answer. Huffing, she stomped further in, shouting his name again, and getting a deafening roar in response. Rogue is unphased, watching him, frowning as he turns and goes back to beating a support wall into gravel. "Bruce, everyone is safe. All the kids are fine, they're getting looked after...come'on Sugar, let's go home."

"Safe." The Hulk pauses on the one word, turning his head. Marie can see the moment as it passes through his eyes, though, when he remembers what they were safe -from-, and his fists are flying into the walls once more. She sighs, shaking her head. Well, there was another option. They'd talked about it, once, but never tried it. She knows he'll probably be pissed at her later but, well, nothing ventured...

Tugging off a glove, Rogue musters herself and gingerly steps toward him, resting a bare palm on his massive green bicep.

The response is immediate. He turns sharply, his expression pained, shocked, and fearful all at once. He shrinks, and Marie is aware of some ...presence that's suddenly filling her. Anger, rage, an assurance that she could destroy anything with her own small hands. She yanks back from him, crying out as he shifts back into the man. Maybe it was the pain, the draining nature of her mutation. Or maybe it was just plain fear taking the place of his anger. Either way, he's slumping forward, reaching out to her.

She only needs a minute. Rogue turns, sending her own fist through the concrete as if it were paper-mache. And then he's wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his face to her clothed torso. She swallows hard, shoving the raging, yelling monster in her head to the side. Just liked she'd learned to do with Logan, with Erik. Put them away, use their echo later.

Tugging the bandana around her neck up over her lips, Marie pulls Bruce up, diving in for a kiss. He kisses her back, clutching her close, nails almost digging in at her waist.

"That was so stupid!" He gasps, pulling back and looking her in the eye, "Oh my god, Marie, we've got no idea what..."

"We've got kind of an idea?" She gives him a shaky grin. Then she's getting hugged again, close and carefully, and she holds him right back, just as hard, flexing a hand and remembering how warm and alive his skin had felt...

That's why she wasn't afraid of having the Hulk with her, always. It meant touching Bruce.

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End file.
